Incendiary
by asesina
Summary: Vampires are never supposed to feel guilt. Damon-centric oneshot.


Incendiary by asesina

Disclaimer: I don't own TVD.

a/n: This is a quick one shot in which Damon experiences a moment of regret and perhaps a bit of humanity.

I hope you like it!

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_"Then someone will say what is lost can never be saved" _-Smashing Pumpkins, Bullet with Butterfly Wings

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It was getting late. Far too late, in fact, even for a vampire. Something as mundane and human as a clock shouldn't have been able to control Damon Salvatore, and yet it _did_, holding him captive as the second hand ticked along in its interminable clockwise orbit.

How the hell was an immortal being capable of feeling _old_? Damon scoffed at the idea and buried it in the shallow graveyard of his mind, carefully avoiding the freshly-dug graves and the headstones marked _humanity_ and _regret_.

Damon sighed and swirled the glass of scotch in his hand, noting the way that it sloshed over the intricate crystal patterns of the cup that had been in the Salvatore family for ages.

He wanted to fall into an alcohol-induced stupor, but the very fact that he was _undead_ prevented that. In a way, he envied thehumans at the Mystic Grill who were so easily lulled into a land of dulled reflexes and diminished responsibility by the glorious panacea of alcohol.

Damon took a sip of the scotch and felt a dull, faint sensation move down his throat. He wondered what it felt like for a mortal to drink 100-proof scotch. It must be pungent and powerful. Damon recalled that a woman called it "liquid fire" one time, but the disappointingly frail aftereffects of the scotch proved that term to be a misnomer.

He drummed his fingers on the arm of the dark leather sofa, glaring angrily at the clock, that ubiquitous reminder that time was passing and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

And so the minutes marched on, dragging Damon further and further from his past, from the tattered traces of humanity that clung to his forebrain like the rebel flag of some long-abandoned revolution.

He took another swig from the glass, drinking deeply as he struggled to repress the apparitions of his victims that clawed their way from his subconscious mind to the surface of his consciousness.

Damon saw Lexi's face contorting in pain and anguish as she emitted a feeble "_why_", questioning his betrayal as she crumpled to a pile of twisted grey limbs at his feet.

He heard Vicki's screams as he tore into her neck and drained the life out of her, and he felt Bree's heart beating in his hands as he tossed it to the floor.

"_They needed to die_," Damon rationalized.

He flexed his fingers and heard his bones crack with a satisfying pop as he reached over to refill his scotch.

"_Why the hell does this all have to happen tonight?_" Damon thought angrily as he took another drink and felt another memory grip him.

Damon felt Zach's neck snapping in his quick, agile hands, and he remembered the way his hands felt around another neck- Jeremy's.

Not even the highest proof whisky could erase the look of horror on Elena's face. It was forever seared into Damon's memory, and now it resurfaced in all of its ugly glory, filling his conscious mind with an oddly uncomfortable feeling that he used to call regret.

"Enough," Damon hissed, and this time, he was speaking aloud, albeit to an empty room.

He slammed the whisky glass forcefully onto the end table and stalked over to the fireplace.

As he studied the dancing flames, Damon slowly allowed himself to forget the screams of anguish and the pools of blood that flitted across his consciousness in a taunting, morbid tango. He let the thoughts slip away and watched them drop into the fire like bits of ash caught on the breeze.

One by one, Damon buried every face, every name, every death. If this was his humanity resurfacing, he infinitely preferred being a vampire. He was content to leave the guilt and moralizing to Stefan.

Damon knew that he was too far gone to ever be saved, but he didn't really care in the end. Turning off the guilt was much easier.

As he came to the last of his memories , Damon couldn't help but cling to the look on Elena's face as she watched him murder her beloved younger brother.

He felt the intensity of her anger and disgust, and realized that it was all directed at _him_. Damon let the thought scar his conscience for an instant before he shook it off and threw it into the fire with the others.

End


End file.
